The wind whispered low across the towers of Æthermoir Castle — the last bastion of obsidian, suspended between the world and the abyss.
Crimson light filtered through its stained-glass windows, casting shards of ancient runes upon the walls — runes long forgotten… by all but one.
At the heart of the highest tower, in a circular chamber bathed in amber glow, stood a canopy bed carved from the blackened bone of an elder dragon.
Upon that bed, draped in a silk night-robe of royal purple, Caelum Noctar read.
A book.
Not a forbidden grimoire.
Not a treatise on warfare.
No.
A web novel.
The contrast was absurd. Between magical scrolls burning in censers and the floating obsidian artifact hovering above the bed, it was this little leather-bound book, embossed with golden letters in modern script, that held his gaze.
> "Absolute Conquering Empire – Volume 19: The Siege of the Tower of Tears"
He turned a page. Slowly. As if savoring every word.
> "Emperor Silvaran XIII raised his scepter. The thirteen legions roared in unison. To the east, the last bastion of the Coalition burned in the flames of submission."
A voice interrupted the silence.
---
— "I've said it before, master… your tastes are peculiar."
The voice was soft. Playful, yet reverent.
Serila, his personal maid, handed him a glass of white wine glinting with opaline hues.
She wore a loose indoor kimono, shoulders bare, feet resting silently on the obsidian marble.
Her gaze sparkled with curious affection.
---
— "You're the greatest strategist this world has ever known… and yet you read fictional tales where emperors wage war… and bed their harems by the final chapters."
Caelum raised an eyebrow, his eyes still fixed on the page.
— "Because this world has forgotten the taste of conquest. Naturally, echoes of it remain only in fiction."
He closed the book.
— "And I'd rather follow a fictional emperor who lies with women between battles… than the real ones in this world who die between signatures."
A quiet laugh slipped from Serila's lips.
— "If it were up to you, you'd conquer the world between two goblets of wine… and two lovers."
— "I already have," he replied, matter-of-factly.
And then…
---
KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.
A light, rhythmic knock against the bronze door etched with ancient seals.
The voice that followed was clear, formal, and unwavering.
— "Master. As foretold… the White Hero has fallen. The Kingdom of Valereth collapsed at the sixth hour. The final throne has been seized."
Caelum smiled. The smile of a pagan god at the altar of a conquered world.
— "Excellent. You may go."
Silence. Then, footsteps fading into the distance.
---
✴ Who was Caelum Noctar?
A being whose birth triggered an eclipse.
At age 10, he conquered his first kingdom without raising an army — merely by manipulating the dreams of the king and his generals, forcing them to slaughter one another in their sleep.
At 13, he tamed dragons using necro-melodic verses, enslaving the ancient beasts to his will.
At 16, he crushed a coalition of six nations, forcing their monarchs to kiss his feet and offer their heirs as servants in a treaty soaked with shame.
He never fought for peace.
Never for the people.
No.
He fought to dominate.
To impose his logic on the weak.
To bend the world's order to his ambition.
---
— "I really should stop talking to myself when my maid's around… it makes me look insane. Ahh… ahh…"
— "Master… I can hear you, you know…" she sighed, placing a gentle hand on his head.
He rose. Slowly.
His fingers brushed the edge of a silver model — a miniature of thirteen empires laid out across the map.
Each inscribed with ancient runes: Sangrelame, Lumiarca, Zarash, Kelrond, the Floating Empire of Vaal, the World-City of Erelia, and others.
One by one, he traced their surfaces with the tip of a fingernail.
— "Thirteen empires…"
— "Thirteen monsters… devouring one another in endless cycles like cannibal gods."
Serila approached, mesmerized.
— "Is this the world of your novel?"
She examined the model carefully… then with surprise:
— "You said thirteen empires… but I only see twelve. Did my lord make an error?"
Caelum Noctar gave a nearly mischievous smile, tinged with contained disdain.
— "Indeed… but it's no mistake. The thirteenth empire was the first to fall. The weakest of all. I loathe weakness."
— "But why such hatred for that kingdom? Could its king not save it?" she asked, intrigued.
— "Ahaha… ahh. So you're interested in this human folly. But you see… not everyone can be Caelum Noctar. That kingdom was called the Empire of Askarion. Its emperor — dubbed the King Who Smelled of Death — was utterly useless. Enough talk. Thinking about empires gives me migraines."
— "But even if you were born in the weakest empire… you think you'd still rise to the top? Could you rule all thirteen in the world of Absolute Conquering Empire?"
Caelum laughed mockingly.
— "Ahh… ahaha! That world? I'd take it. In a thousand days, I'd break it — or remake it in my image."
Serila giggled, mischievous.
— "I wish I could've bet on that." she said, drawing closer.
She kissed him. Boldly. Without fear.
Their bodies entwined in slow, deliberate intimacy — imperial in its pace.
For Caelum, pleasure was never escape. It was conquest.
He didn't seek surrender — he sought dominance.
His hands, like his words, took possession.
Whispers turned to sighs.
Sighs to silence.
Later, she fell asleep against him. He remained awake a little longer.
— "As I said… I won't need decades to conquer thirteen empires…" he thought, just before sleep claimed him.
---
Hours later…
Golden beams of morning light filtered through the velvet crimson curtains.
They brushed against his eyelids with a mocking tenderness.
It was that warmth — that imperial silence bathed in sunlight — that stirred him from sleep.
— "Hah… hah…"
Caelum woke as always, beginning his morning routine: breathing deeply, stretching his muscles atop the bed—
But something was off.
— "Tchhh… what's this pain in my chest…?"
The air burned his lungs as it entered.
CRACK. CRACK. CRACK.
His shoulder popped out of place from a simple stretch.
— "Horhh… horhh… what the hell is this? I've never felt this kind of pain…" he muttered, coughing, gripping his shoulder.
He reached for his forehead: burning hot.
But what shocked him wasn't the fever…
It was his fingers.
Thinner. More delicate.
And the room — which should have been his bedchamber — was completely different.
Once surrounded by humanity's greatest treasures, he now lay in a room styled like something out of the 17th century.
A quiet panic seized him.
Sweat dripped down his face like he'd run a marathon.
He felt something unfamiliar:
Fear.
— "Ahh… what the hell is going on…?" he whispered, panicked.
SMACK. SMACK. SMACK.
— "Ahaha… ahh…"
He slapped himself… and dislocated his left wrist.
He stood up abruptly, trembling, searching the room for a mirror.
And as he stumbled from the bed — he sprained his left ankle the moment it touched the floor.
A sharp pain tore through him.
The hope that this was all a dream evaporated.
— "Puff… not a dream…"
CRACK. CRACK. CRACK.
After struggling like a madman, he crawled across the floor to the mirror.
Every step was agony.
He finally reached it.
A nervous smile crept onto his face, sweat pouring down.
— "Ahahh… not even fighting heroes was this hard…"
His eyes trembled.
He closed them.
Breathed.
Opened them.
What he saw left him speechless.
It wasn't him.
A young man — maybe fifteen.
Golden eyes. Pale skin. Long, silky, tousled hair.
Noble features… refined.
— "What the fuck is this? I don't get it…"
Suddenly, a strange pain shot through him.
A low moan echoed in his ears, like the groan of the universe itself.
A surge of memories invaded him, violent and uninvited.
He collapsed to all fours.
His vision warped — colors became whispers.
Whispers became memories.
Memories, a deafening scream.
Seconds passed.
An eternity.
Then, he came to…
Vomiting violently onto the stone floor, body convulsing.
Caelum Noctar…
No longer his name.
A panicked laugh escaped his lips.
— "Ahah… so that's it, huh? Of all people… why did I have to become him?"
— "That bastard I despise… even reincarnating as a tree would've been better than this sickly fool…"
Then — a knock.
KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.
— "My lord?"
A soft, angelic voice. Female.
Caelum composed himself.
Thanks to the memories just absorbed, he now knew why she was here.
— "Stay outside. I'll dress myself today. And don't worry," he replied, breathless.
— "Grrr… are you sure, my lord? You sound out of breath…"
— "I said I'm fine, now get lost!"
— "If that is Your Majesty's wish… but please don't forget your council meeting… and your medicine…"
— "Got it. Now crawl."
One step… two…
Her footsteps faded.
A sly grin crept across his face.
— "Ahah… today's the day I make a tidy little fortune and revive this kingdom's economy. It all starts now. As I said… I, Caelum Noctar — ah no, forgot — I'm no longer him… I, Aureluis VI… will take the world of this novel. And I'll do it in a thousand days."